A Consummation
by Bain Sidhe
Summary: Elizabeth and James are to be married in two days, but when they return to the picnic grove where their relationship began, Elizabeth realizes she does not want to wait until her wedding night to consummate their love... (Third story in the Picnic Series.)


**A/N: This fic is the third in the Picnic Series,**** and it's helpful but not necessary to read the first two to understand all the context here. Enjoy!  
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"I can scarcely believe we will be married in just two days, James!"

Elizabeth's voice was bright and cheerful as she snuggled into James, who obligingly wrapped his arms about her tighter as she pressed in close. They were seated on a blanket spread out upon the grass at the centre of "their" grove, where they frequently picnicked and where, three months before, James had finally asked for her hand in marriage. And now, at last, that day to which she had so eagerly looked forward was nigh, and Elizabeth felt a deep contentedness suffuse through her body, all the way to her soul. To think that merely half a year before, she had viewed James with an aloof detachment that bordered on dislike! What an utter and complete fool she had been.

"Penny for your thoughts?" His quiet voice intruded upon her musings, and she hesitated before responding. Elizabeth, ever mindful of tradition (or, at least, ever mindful that James respected tradition, even if she could quite frankly take it or leave it a good deal of the time), had realized that tonight was the last opportunity for the couple to spend time together before their customary separation the day before the ceremony, and she did not want to waste it regaling him with the details of how she had very nearly allowed their love to slip away. Instead, she thought of that wonderful day when her heart had awoken to him, never to turn be turned away again.

"I fell in love with you on this very spot," she said, slipping a hand over his as he held her against him. "You were such a sweet dear, stumbling all over your words, so afraid to offend me, when in truth I was only offended by your tardiness in expressing your feelings."

She heard him chuckle softly as he pressed a kiss to the back of her neck. "What can I say, Elizabeth? You render me tongue-tied and speechless. You always have."

"The great, valiant Commodore Norrington," she teased playfully, turning around in his arms to regard him with a mischievous glint in her eye. "The scourge of piracy, the stalwart defender of the British West Indies, utterly unbowed before pirates, marauders, and all manner of villainy – and who yet is undone by the thought of courting the woman he loves. You must admit it is a bit incongruous."

"I sound rather pathetic when you put it _that_ way," he said wryly.

"Not pathetic," she countered. "I find it quite adorable, actually. Or at least, I did once I realized how you truly felt about me."

"Adorable?" He arched his eyebrows delicately, clearly uncertain how much he enjoyed being the object of such an adjective. "I shall endeavour to take that as a compliment, emasculating though it sounds. Children and small animals are meant to be adorable, Elizabeth, not men."

"Oh, men and their ridiculous pride!" She smacked him playfully on the chest. "Well, I say you are adorable." She leaned in, until her forehead rested against his, meeting his (rather adorably) furrowed brows with her own, which were crinkled in amusement. "Though I suppose you are also dashing and handsome, as well."

James's façade of consternation slipped, and he slipped his hands to her waist and pulled her close, a quite un-James-like raffish grin appearing on his face. "Now that is much more appropriate. 'Adorable' indeed."

The feel of his large hands encircling her narrow waist set Elizabeth's blood to throbbing, and she was brought to mind of the times when they had explored their passion before – most of them right here in this very grove. Indeed, they had behaved quite scandalously on that day when he had at last confessed his love to her – as well as on the day when he had asked her to become his wife. His kisses had been deep and tender and so sweet, and she wanted to drink of him forever, to taste his soft but demanding lips with hers, to feel the hard planes of his body pressing into her, creating a delicious friction and setting her alight, ablaze with a fire only his touch could quench. She shuddered involuntarily as his fingers began to trace little patterns against the small of her back, thanking God and all the angels that in just two days she would be able to touch him all she liked, whenever she liked, and she would be his wife and he her husband and there would be no one who could dare call them improper for it. But as he lowered his face to her neck and began to trail soft kisses along her jaw, she thought, quite maddened, that two days was an aching eternity.

"James," she said suddenly, her voice sounding oddly strangled to her own ears. "James, I need you."

He smothered her closer in response, her curves fitted snug against his firm, muscled frame, and Elizabeth thought she might well explode. How could she bear this ache for two more days? His lips continued to trail across her neck and jaw, and as she clung to him, her eyes followed the horizon out to the sea, where the sinking sun, perhaps half an hour before dusk, had cast a warm orange-red glow across the glimmering waves. It was a scene out of a celestial vision; the kind of perfect vista that would put to shame even the greatest artist's dream. Her hands tangled themselves in James's hair, and as she played with the strands her fingers toyed loose from his ribbon, she became aware, through her haze of pleasure, that he was scrupulously kissing her only where her skin was exposed above the neckline of her dress. _It is only two more days_, she thought impatiently. But in two more days, they would be married in a grand ceremony in Port Royal's church, and afterwards would be obliged to entertain their guests at a grand ball that her father had been joyously planning for the past three months. It would be a long and tiresome, if happy, day, and by the time they actually retired to their marriage chambers, she would be exhausted, and it would be well dark outside, and her bedroom – their bedroom – would be illuminated only by dim candlelight, and –

"James," she said urgently, tugging his head gently away from her neck, and turning his face up towards hers, whereupon he regarded her with a bewildered look.

"I was rather under the impression that you were enjoying yourself," he said drolly. "I hope I was not mistaken, as I intend to do much more than kiss your neck two days from now."

The promise in his words shot through her like a lightning bolt, and she decided, at last, that waiting two more days was asking the impossible.

"James, I would like it if you would do much more than kiss my neck now," she said boldly, clinging to his shoulders for support, lest her quailing nerves fail her. She knew about lovemaking, of course – she'd never been particularly missish, and she knew that the sensations generated by the kisses she'd shared with James found their completion in the act of coitus. She also knew that ladies of good breeding did not engage in such an act until they were married – but she was going to marry James in a mere two days, and the pounding of her blood through her veins had grown to an urgent crescendo, and she desperately needed a release – she needed _him_, all of him.

"Elizabeth," he said cautiously, taking her hands in his. "We shall be wed in two days – I would not wish to impose upon you improperly –"

"Oh, good Lord, James!" she cried, and even in her desire-maddened state she had to suppress a grin at James's shocked countenance at her uttered oath. "Do you recall our first picnic, that wonderful day when I learned of your true desires?"

He frowned in bewilderment. "You know I remember it with vivid clarity –"

"As do I," she said heatedly. "So you will remember that I told you I would like it if you lost your composure more often. James, I am going mad for want of you." She saw his face flush a deep crimson, his eyes darken with desire, as her words had the intended effect, and she ploughed on. "Please, James, I do not wish to wait until our wedding night, when we will be exhausted and desirous of sleep after a long day, and left to ourselves in a dark and unfamiliar chamber – "

"My bedroom is not an unfamiliar chamber," he protested, and she resisted the urge to smack him for missing the point.

"It is to me! And it will be dark, and ill-lit, and I won't be able to see you, and – oh, James, we have the rest of our lives to enjoy our marriage bed together, but…" She trailed off, searching for the words to convince him.

"This place – this grove – is where I fell in love with you. It is where you proposed to me. It is where we shared our first kiss, where we have hidden away from the prying eyes of my father and your officers and everyone else who seeks to intrude on our solace. This is where I want you to love me."

It was in this much-beloved place where their love had, at last, blossomed. And as Elizabeth took his hands in hers and raised them to her lips, she saw the raw hunger, the undisguised and ardent love, in his eyes, and knew she had convinced him.

"No more propriety or composure, James. Make love to me."

James's eyes, so bright and green, had always reminded her of the sea, and tonight they were as intense and elemental as the most roiling, storm-tossed waves; and she realized, with a shuddering, breathless longing, that all of the kisses they had shared had not come close to preparing her for the full force of his passion.

"Elizabeth," his whispered, his voice raw. He reached a trembling hand to her face, where, with the barest glance of his fingers, he traced the contours of her brows, her delicate cheekbones, her lips, her jaw, and her neck, where he stopped just shy of her collarbone. She sighed, a soft mew of discontentment at his cessation, but her displeasure was quickly supplanted and she gasped in surprise as he brought both his hands to her chest and trailed them slowly down, across her collarbone, to come to a rest atop her clothed breasts. Her breath hitched in her throat as his hands kneaded her breasts, and she yelped in startled pleasure as he suddenly and unexpectedly pinched a taut nipple through the fabric of her dress, sending a jolt of pleasure vibrating down every nerve in her body.

"James!" she gasped, unable to rein in her shocked reaction. She was instantly contrite, fearing he would take her exclamation as a rebuke; but, to her astonishment and not-inconsiderable delight, he merely grinned wolfishly and continued to massage her breasts with strong, forceful hands.

"No more propriety or composure, remember?" His voice was rough and raw with desire and she began to tremble as he started to unlace her bodice with expert skill. He peeled apart her dress, exposing her stays, and with a soft, quick, tug, he pulled them down and out of the way, and Elizabeth's face flushed scarlet as her bare breasts were freed at last, and James hissed in a sharp, sudden breath as he devoured her with ravenous eyes.

The cool sea breeze chilled her naked flesh at once, and Elizabeth resisted the urge to cover herself with her arms out of both the cold and a sense of modesty; she wanted this, wanted him to look at her the way he was looking at her, and as her nipples peaked in the chill air, she found herself longing excruciatingly for his touch there. She wanted him to touch her _everywhere_, and with an impatient groan, she reached out, her hands skimming his arms to rest against his shoulders, and she tugged him towards her. His stupor broken at once by her touch, James deftly reached his hands up to palm her breasts, and she gasped in satisfaction as his hands roved over them, his fingers caressing and rolling over the sensitive buds, sending shockwaves of pleasure through her overcharged nerves. His hands were large and broad enough to cup each breast entirely within a massive palm, and Elizabeth felt a quaking pleasure building in her belly as he caressed her there. When he lowered his head to her chest and took a rosy nipple in his mouth, she cried out, the exquisite bliss sending a hot pulse throbbing between her legs. She ached to touch herself there, where the pulsing pleasure had been mounting for some time, but she could not touch anything but James; her hands roamed over him frantically, squeezing and pressing against his broad shoulders, caressing the hard contours of his heavily-muscled back, and tangling wildly in his hair, disengaging even more dark strands from the ribbon that barely held his long hair from falling altogether into his face as he suckled eagerly at her breasts, lavishing attention on each one in turn.

Her hands gripped hard at his shoulders as she pressed him against her, and somehow, through the haze of pleasure that fogged her brain, she became aware of the scratchy wool fabric of his waistcoat against her palms. She pushed against him then, lifting his face away from her chest, where he parted reluctantly and bestowed a look upon her that was equal parts wild desire and impatient bewilderment.

"Elizabeth, you surely don't mean to stop me now."

Despite the heat that blazed across every inch of her skin, she found it in her to laugh. "Oh, God no, James, never," she reassured him, stroking his angular face in her hands, feeling the familiar smoothness of his jaw and wishing she could feel the rest of his skin, always so hidden under all of his layers. "But you are far too overdressed. I want to feel you against me."

Understanding dawned quickly in his eyes, and James pushed himself off of her, sitting up with a wry grin as he reached for the top button of his waistcoat. "Then I shall endeavour to remedy the situation," he said, but stilled when she placed her hands on his and gripped him tight.

"Let me," she said, her eyes locked firmly onto his. "Let me undress you."

She saw him swallow hard, his eyes never wavering. "By all means."

She unbuttoned his waistcoat swiftly and he shrugged it off, leaving him clad only in his white shirt, breeches, and stockings. She spied a tantalizing glimpse of dark hair peeking out from above his shirt, and she wondered wildly what it would feel like, his hard muscular chest pressed against her bare breasts, and with a feral abandon she yanked his shirt from his breeches and tugged it open and shoved it off his shoulders, leaving him shirtless and grinning before her, clearly impressed by her fit of passion. Elizabeth licked her lips as she surveyed her lover's body, all planes and angles, hard muscles and taut sinew. His chest was covered in a sparse furring of dark, wispy hairs that trailed down in a soft line down into his breeches, where – she licked her lips again – his desire was significantly evident to her, straining against the thin fabric of his breeches and leaving precious little of him to her imagination.

"God, James," she breathed, but despite her arousal, she could not resist an exasperated sigh as he indulged in the most self-satisfied and brashly cocky smile she'd ever seen grace his face.

"I take it I have earned your approval?" he murmured, stepping closer to her as she continued her frank appraisal. Despite the obviousness of her answer, Elizabeth decided that he should not be quite so presumptive.

"Really, James, such swagger does not suit you. It is almost piratical. And I know how you detest pirates." Her barb, however, designed to puncture his clearly swelling pride, did not have the intended effect; rather, he reached out for her and pulled her abruptly to him, and she bleated a startled yelp in response.

"I do detest pirates," he whispered in her ear, and there was something almost dangerous about his voice that sent Elizabeth's resolve melting into a puddle. "But perhaps, upon reconsideration, they occasionally have the right notion. What is that motto of theirs? 'Take what you can, give nothing back?'" He nipped at her ear, his teeth followed by a soft caress of his tongue, and she shuddered wordlessly. "I think I shall follow their advice." And then she was in his arms, and she felt the tickling of his chest hair against her breasts and the hard, solid plane of his chest pressing firm into hers, and whatever clever quip she might have rejoined with was lost in a ravenous kiss as his tongue plundered her mouth. Piratical, indeed.

With a tug, he dragged them down again to lay on the blanket, and this time her hands roamed free and unimpeded across the heated skin of his back, and she could only moan in wordless desire as he explored her body with hot, frenzied kisses while his hands slipped under her skirts to slide against her legs. The throbbing heat continued to build in her core, and Elizabeth's hips rose up involuntarily to grind against the hardness of his length through his breeches, and she gasped out at the feel of his manhood pressing intimately against her centre. She heard him hiss in sudden shock, and knew that, despite his bravado, he was as out of control as she was, just as lost to their mutual passion and desire.

"James," she pleaded, running her hands along his bare arms and around his shoulders and coming to rest on the small of his back. "James, I need you now. I want you to take me. Make me yours."

He pulled back to look at her, all the cockiness and swagger gone now, replaced by the darkly intense yet gently loving longing she'd seen in his face before. He leaned in to kiss her lips, and the kiss was passionate, yet warm and tender, and she knew – God bless him – that, despite whatever pirate mottos he might spout in a fit of masculine bluster, he would not take this from her without making absolutely certain that she was ready.

"You truly want this?" he whispered, his lips warm against her neck, and she thought she might die from the weight of him pressing against her. The pulsing between her legs was constant and insistent, and she would go mad without a release of this infuriating pressure, this desire, this soul-deep ache.

"I've never wanted anything more," she said honestly.

To her surprise, he smiled in response. "Nor have I." He leaned back from her, and as his hands descended to the buttons of his breeches, she drew in a shaky breath as he began to undo them one by one. At last undone, he tugged his breeches and stockings down and off, revealing his considerable manhood to her for the first time. Elizabeth gaped, and her first reaction was to wonder how _that_ was supposed to fit _anywhere_ inside her; but a twinge of warmth between her legs assured her that, however improbable it seemed, this was what she had been waiting for. Her pulse raced to consider the thought: that she, her body, was made for him, to take him inside her, to join with him. In love, in marriage, and in this most intimate way, this meeting of body and soul.

"Elizabeth." His voice was worried, and she couldn't imagine why – did he think she was afraid? She saw him looking at her concernedly. "Are you crying?"

She reached a hand to her face and was surprised to pull away wet fingers. "James… " she whispered, reaching out for him. "I'm so happy. I want this. I love you."

He smiled, and she marvelled over the gloriously naked body of the man who would in short order be her husband. "I love you, Elizabeth. Always." He appraised her, and a wry grin found its way to his face. "Now, my love, I believe it is you who are overdressed."

She felt no apprehension, no shyness or modesty, as he pulled her dress and her stays completely off, revealing her entire body to him. She watched as he surveyed her, his eyes full of desire, longing, and love. She felt the twinge between her legs again, accompanied this time by a rush of heat, and her hips bucked involuntarily with it as she moaned softly in want. His eyes traveled down her body, and his hands followed, over her breasts, her belly, and her hips, and finally, tortuously, against her thighs and up towards the place where she ached so badly for need of him.

"My, you _are_ ready," he breathed, and when he grazed her sex with his long fingertips, she cried out as if struck by lightning, so intense was the bolt of pleasure that flashed through her. That was what she needed, his touch, and –

"James, I will go mad if I do not have you," she begged, and, seeing such evidence of the intensity of her need firsthand, James moved above her, bracing his arms on either side of her head and positioning himself against her. She felt the tip of his cock bobbing against her thigh and she whimpered in mute desire.

"It will hurt, at first," he whispered, pressing his lips against her neck and kissing her languorously as his fingers found her centre and massaged her, eliciting further needful moans from his lover as he plunged gently into her wetness. "But I promise I will be gentle."

"James!" She could bear this torture no longer. "Now!"

And then he was above her again, his perfect face, his handsome, masculine face, those gorgeous green eyes, that strong jaw, that gloriously thick dark hair, rakish and falling about his face in long delicate strands, and behind him were the softly-waving trees and the gentle undulations of the sea and the orange-red brilliance of the sunset, and it was the most perfect moment of Elizabeth Swann's life. And then he was inside her, pressing slowly at first, slowly but firmly, and when he pushed through her barrier, it did hurt, a little, and she buried her face into his shoulder; but the pain was quickly replaced by a feeling of such thorough _completeness_, and she felt the pulsing in her centre magnified until her pleasure throbbed in time with every beat of her heart. He remained there for several long moments, just resting inside her, filling her with his manhood, until Elizabeth, desperate to abate that ache in her soul, bucked her hips against him; and then he began to move, and Elizabeth was conscious of nothing else.

It was a slow and easy rhythm at first, a gentle give and take, and Elizabeth felt her world contract, the trees, the sea, and the sunset all disappearing into ether, the entire universe fading into umbra until all that was left was James, moving above her and in her. He pulled his cock halfway out of her, then slid forward again, his rhythm smooth and sure, and Elizabeth felt like the sea, and James the stalwart ship that ploughed her waves, moving with the tide, pulling out and pushing in, an eternal cycle, as old as the earth itself. The ache in her centre and in her soul spiralled and spun out of control as a feeling of pure, crystalline euphoria began to grow in her, and she felt as though she was on the cusp of a new discovery, a new revelation, and that, in order to reach it, she had to keep moving, keep climbing, towards a cloud-hazed peak.

Slinging her legs around James's waist, she thrust her hips wildly against him, and he responded in kind; and _this_, this was different but just as good, this frenzied, breathless joining, no longer like a ship sailing the ocean but rather a rider clinging tightly to a galloping stallion, careening out of control. Elizabeth was dimly aware of her ragged breathing as she gasped for air, and, chancing a glance at James, she saw in his face a complete abandonment of reserve and control such as she'd never seen on his countenance before, his eyes wild with love and lust, sweat beading across his brow, his breath as ragged and erratic as hers. Suddenly he clenched his eyes shut, his brows knitting together, and he groaned, low and long, and she felt him buck harder against her, and then –

The world shattered around her, and her breath constricted from her lungs, and the throbbing in her centre, the ache between her legs, exploded. A wave of the purest pleasure, physical and emotional, she'd ever known cascaded over her, battering her, drowning her, and she was dimly aware that she was crying out with abandon. She seized against him, her legs gripping him as tightly as she could, pressing herself into him, making herself one with him. She heard his strangled cry follow hers, felt him jack his hips hard against her once, and again, and then a warmth filled her, a divine exquisite warmth, and she clung to him and he to her as they collapsed boneless and sated together on the blanket.

The world gradually returned; the trees, softly waving in the evening breeze, graced the sky, now a deepening purple-red as the sun continued its journey towards the horizon. The sea glittered as it reflected the rays of the dying sun, and, as her breath came back to her, Elizabeth turned to press herself against the warm, naked body of her lover, her soon-to-be-husband, her James. She rested her head against his chest and he wrapped an arm instantly around her, snuggling her close. She decided, after a long silence, that she should say something in the aftermath of such an event, but no words came to mind. So she kissed his chest instead, and he responded by squeezing her shoulder, and kissing the top of her head in reply. Perhaps such things were better than words.

At last, when the sun had well and truly set below the horizon and the stars had come out to greet them, James stirred, and Elizabeth mewed in protest as he sat up and began to search for his discarded clothing. He reached a hand out to her and she took it, standing with him and falling into his embrace, relishing the feel of his naked skin against hers.

"Thank you for this, Elizabeth," he whispered. "You were right. I am glad we shared this here, tonight."

She smiled. "As I said, we have the rest of our lives to enjoy our marriage bed – and enjoy it I shall," she said impishly. "But I wanted our first time to be… well, to be perfect. To be here."

He rested his head against hers, and took her hands in his. "Well, it was perfect," he agreed. "You are perfect. And you are mine, body, heart, and soul."

Elizabeth blinked away the moisture that had suddenly formed in the corners of her eyes. "And you are mine."

The secluded little seaside grove was the sole witness to the truth of the promise made between the two lovers, who had found each other under its shade, and who would carry it with them in their hearts always for the gift it had given them – the gift of their love.


End file.
